


From the Ashes

by rxi19



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Collars, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Malesub, Matriarchal society, Matriarchy, Mistress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24620098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxi19/pseuds/rxi19
Summary: Phoenix is tired of wasting time in his room, uncalled-upon by his Mistress, so he takes matters into his own hands. His half-baked plan quickly spirals out of control, though he finds hope knowing that his Mistress is a forgiving woman. Probably.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Phoenix/Caela
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45





	From the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> thanx to my beta, Rain! anyway, here we go.

He shifted in place, absentmindedly worrying his bottom lip. The gilded collar around his neck, usually a proud symbol of his place at his Mistress’s side, sat like lead upon his collarbones, now a reminder of everything he should be, but wasn't.

Phoenix squeezed his eyes shut, willing his frustration to abate. A good consort wouldn't get jealous. A good consort would know not to question Mistress's decisions. A good consort would wait patiently for Mistress's attention.

_ But a good consort wouldn’t have to get jealous _ , added a snide voice in Phoenix's head.  _ A good consort wouldn’t have to wait to be allowed at Mistress’s side.  _

Phoenix couldn't muffle the quiet whimper that escaped his throat. He felt no better than an untrained puppy vying for his owner's attention, but there was nothing to distract him from the aching hollowness in his chest. Each passing minute was a minute more that he had to spend alone, unused and unloved. 

As he paced the expanse of his well-furnished room, Phoenix tried to take solace in the security that his room offered. He was safe, guarded, and precious to his Mistress. Like a rare gem in a sparkling case, Phoenix resided in his locked chambers, safe and beloved. His slender fingers grasped at the cool metal of his collar—he couldn’t be replaceable, not when he was so carefully locked away. 

Still. Regardless of intention or implication, captivity was still just that—captivity. Phoenix pursed his bitten-pink lips, fretting, as he wracked his brain for any good ideas; anything that would allow him to return to his rightful place at his Mistress’s side. It was insolent of him to assume he could sit at her side without invitation, but if punishment was the price to pay for her sweet gaze, then so be it.

What if he made a scene? Surely, he would require discipline, and Mistress wouldn’t be so coldhearted as to designate that task to a servant. He could scream, cry, throw himself against the door. He was strong enough to break it down with little trouble, and a broken door would  _ surely  _ warrant investigation. His Mistress would  _ have  _ to pay attention if he threw his fits and broke his toys; it would be unthinkable for such disrespect to go unpunished… 

_ What _ was he thinking?

Bad. Disobedience was  _ bad _ , and he had almost decided to misbehave. Aghast, Phoenix allowed himself to fall gracelessly onto the array of soft cushions he had scattered across the floor, lithe legs folding beneath him. He flopped onto his stomach, movements devoid of their usual practiced elegance, throwing an arm out to clutch a nearby pillow to his chest. 

How could he even think of disobeying? Grimacing, Phoenix shook his head violently, as if doing so would dislodge the insurgency that had briefly commanded his thoughts. If the attention he would gain was Mistress’s disappointed gaze, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. He had to be good for her—he wanted nothing more than to be her sweet, spoiled pet. Being without her guiding hand for so long was driving him up the wall, and his temporary inclination towards disobedience was surely a nasty byproduct. 

Agitation buzzed in Phoenix’s bones as he tried to calm his racing mind. To be obedient, he needed to quell his agitation, and to do that, he would have to see his Mistress. But demanding his Mistress’s attention would be disobedient, and disobedience would earn him punishment. Phoenix sucked on his bottom lip, brows furrowed, as he tried to think of a better solution. Try as he might, he could not focus; a deep longing was tugging at him, and he knew it wouldn’t abate until he was cuddled into his Mistress’s soft lap. 

Phoenix rolled himself over, his soft, brown eyes drifting toward the door. He could pick the lock, no problem—a previous Madame had unwittingly taught him the skill by repeatedly locking him in her closet whenever he misbehaved. While under his current Mistress’s care, Phoenix’s nimble fingers had been busy with other things, of course, but by no means did that mean he had forgotten the trick.

Phoenix was going to see his Mistress today, no matter what it took.

With this new purpose to galvanize him, Phoenix rose from his bed of scattered pillows and headed for his vanity, determined to look as enticing as he possibly could.

Mistress loved Phoenix’s hair when it was loose and soft, and it would be remiss of him to neglect it. With this in mind, Phoenix ran a wooden brush through the chocolate waves of his hair, allowing himself to imagine it was his Mistress’s fingers running their way through his hair. His cheeks flooded with warmth as he shuddered at the thought, almost giddy. Phoenix briefly considered attempting to apply rouge, unaware of the smile that already painted his pink-cheeked face.

After hanging a pair of glittering stones in his ears (Mistress loved those), Phoenix abandoned the vanity, excusing his near-scandalous attire with his impatience. His thin pants covered the important bits (and the less there was, the easier for his Mistress to remove, anyway). Almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of seeing his Mistress, Phoenix hurried to the door, extending his hand to experimentally jiggle the doorknob. 

To his surprise, it was unlocked.

Phoenix felt his stomach drop. It was such a small detail to be concerned about, but he couldn’t help but feel his throat tighten at the observation. Mistress had always told him that the locks on his door were born of her protectiveness. She wanted to keep him safe, secure, loved by her, and only her. Had he fallen so far from Mistress’s favor that she no longer cared to keep him safe in his quarters? Had he misbehaved? Perhaps the recent solitude was an intentional punishment. Had Mistress kept him put away as  _ punishment _ ? 

Swallowing the panic swelling in his chest, Phoenix forced his hands to unclench, focusing on his breath instead. No, no. It had to be an accident. She trusted him, she cared for him, and he would do well not to question her judgments. Phoenix couldn’t afford to waste any time—he had to find his Mistress and atone for whatever he had done. He pushed himself to move, doing his best to move past the threshold of his room and into the hallway beyond.

_ Head down, hands at your sides. Walk with purpose.  _ Repeating the mantra as he moved about the corridors, Phoenix reviewed his route in his head.  _ Left. Left. Pass this turn. Take a left here. No, wait. Next left. Or… Was it that one? Maybe it was a right turn?  _

Phoenix’s quiet steps ground to a halt as he slowly realized that he wasn’t quite sure where he was. The portraits lining the hall were unfamiliar—every painted face leering at him, black eyes boring into him, the faces of a hundred dead men glaring down. Instinctively, Phoenix knew he was  _ not  _ supposed to be here; the iron-bound doors spoke of tightly-kept secrets—the kind that one could be beheaded for gleaning. Instinctively, Phoenix shrank back, moving away from the center of the empty corridor.

He had to leave. This wasn’t somewhere someone like him could be. 

“Hey, you!” Phoenix stiffened. The voice rang out again. “What are you doing here?” 

Startled out of his mind, Phoenix spun around, eyes glinting with frightened surprise. A tall guard, shortsword sheathed at her side, stood at the end of the hall, presumably surprised to see the half-dressed consort. Devoid of his usual finery (save his collar), Phoenix looked more like a guilty servant wandering astray than the consort of the Lady of the house. Oh, this wasn’t good. The guard’s hand moved swiftly to the hilt of her weapon, a motion that didn’t go unnoticed by the very uncomfortable man who was staring at her. Phoenix dipped his head, hoping to display that he was no threat. 

“Ma’am, I’m only looking for the main hall,” Phoenix offered, voice as soft and unthreatening as he could possibly make it. His gaze darted upwards momentarily—the guard’s hand had tightened around the grip of her sword. A bit more nervous, Phoenix added, “I’m looking for… Lady Caela, if you please. I’m not dangerous, I’m just-”

“You’ll have to come with me.” Phoenix’s mouth snapped shut as the guard interrupted. The stone-faced woman drew her weapon and advanced with large strides, quickly approaching. “I will see to it that you are granted an audience in due time.”

It was the feeling of the guard’s callused fingers touching his arm that jolted Phoenix from his temporary inanimation. He couldn’t be locked away, not when he’d already come this far. If he were lost, he still had a chance to find his way, but locked up he would have no more cards left to play. So, he bolted.

The guard’s reactionary shout followed Phoenix as he booked it, darting down the corridor and stumbling around the corner. His hurried steps were soon joined by the louder ones of the guard, who, weighed down by the bulk of her armor, was barely keeping pace. The corridor around the corner was just as austerely decorated at the first, but it lacked the flock of darkly colored portraits lining its predecessor. Phoenix all but flew down the corridor, not daring to peek behind him; he just had to keep going. 

He turned another corner, flailing his arms as his bare feet slipped on the cool stone of the floor. In his panic, he threw his arms out. Ah—his scrabbling fingers curled around a rough bar, which, upon quick inspection, was the trunk of a potted tree.

His weight was too much for the slim plant, and, as he brought himself upright, the plant began to topple. The adrenaline rushing through his veins propelled him onward, leaving the potted tree to crash against the stone floor, dirt undoubtedly spilling everywhere. The string of curses that rang out behind him only confirmed his suspicions. 

Phoenix had approached a busier section of the house, where the halls were lined with domestic shrubbery and unlocked doors. As he sprinted down the hall, Phoenix could feel the telltale burn snaking up his calves and through his lungs; the guard was certainly trained for pursuit, and should the chase continue much longer, Phoenix would surely be caught. Mentally uttering his apologies, Phoenix began toppling more of the topiaries lining the hall, hoping they would deter his determined pursuer.

Stairs! Phoenix darted down the steps, the last topiary toppling before the stairwell. He knew where his Mistress spent his time—he had often been present at her side when she conducted her day-to-day business. The finer details of her dealings escaped his comprehension, but he was more than happy to sit with her, close enough to feel her warmth and shielded by her calm, commanding presence. 

Lost in thought, Phoenix reflexively ducked his head, even as his feet continued to carry him down the stairs and into a well-lit hall. There were a couple of uniformed servants milling about, busy enough with their respective tasks that they, for the most part, disregarded the half-dressed consort rushing past them.

Not quite looking where he was going, Phoenix was nearly knocked to the ground as he collided with a startled kitchen worker. The sound of shattering ceramic caused Phoenix to flinch, and he stumbled back, stammering a half-hearted apology as he ducked his head further. The worker began to yell at him, but Phoenix couldn’t concentrate on anything but the panic welling in his stomach. Wilting, Phoenix meekly repeated his apologies, gluing his eyes to the floor as his face burned and the hot, familiar prickle of tears stung at his eyes. He needed to find his Mistress.

Ignoring the sting of ceramic shards under his feet, Phoenix bolted, sprinting as quickly as he could down the familiar corridors. He didn’t know whether the guard was still pursuing him, and, at this point, it was no longer his biggest concern. The adrenaline that had fed his rash decisions had begun to abandon him, and the gravity of his disobedience was beginning to sink in. He might have been forgiven for leaving his quarters, but distracting a guard, upending decorations,  _ destroying property _ ? His behavior was nothing short of inexcusable.

Had he grown so complacent on his Mistress’s benevolence that he recklessly tarnished her halls and wrecked her property? No wonder she no longer called for him—what Mistress wanted a spoiled, selfish pet? Phoenix had to be disciplined, he  _ had  _ to atone and learn. He rushed through the halls, sight blurry with unshed tears. Phoenix was no longer paying attention to his surroundings, barreling through the hallways with little regard to who he knocked aside. He just had to find his Mistress. Nothing else mattered.

After what felt like an absurdly short amount of time, Phoenix found himself pausing before a pair of deceptively simple doors. He could hear his Mistress’s voice quietly conversing with visitors—a meeting that was likely political in nature. Phoenix briefly considered kneeling by the door and waiting for his Mistress to finish her meeting, but the idea was quickly discarded as the familiar footsteps of the guard came into earshot. 

_ Fuck. _

There wasn’t time to deliberate. Phoenix braced himself and pushed forward, allowing the doors to swing open in front of him. Face flushing at the sudden silence, Phoenix trained his gaze to his feet and hesitantly moved toward his Mistress. As soon as he drew within a meter of the table, he dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground at his Mistress’s feet.

“What in the world-”

“Mistress, I’m _ sorry _ !” Phoenix couldn’t suppress the whine that crept into his voice, his breath hitching as he bit back a sob. Not daring to meet her gaze, Phoenix kept his head lowered, allowing his hair to sweep across his face. As the silence dragged on, Phoenix struggled to deliver the news of his earlier misbehavior.

The adrenaline had bled out of his system, and the exhaustion was catching up to him. One of his Mistress’s companions coughed politely, a thinly-veiled indicator of her impatience. Phoenix braced himself, expecting his Mistress to berate him—he could only pray she would be merciful with her punishment.

Before a word could be said, the door was pushed open, the telltale thump of a guard’s boots announcing the visitor shortly before she strode into the room.

Another pause. Then, low-pitched stammering. “Oh, Lady Caela. I did not mean to intrude upon your meeting. I only entered with the intent to apprehend…”

Her voice trailed off as her eyes alighted on Phoenix, who still lay kneeling before his Mistress. Before the guard could resume her explanation, the Mistress stood, her chair scraping across the stone floor as it slid back. Turning her gaze from the guard to her guests, she adopted an apologetic expression as she dipped her head. 

“It seems that our meeting must be cut short,” she mused, clasping her hands before her waist. With a polite sigh, she shook her head. “I am truly sorry that our meeting has to end this abruptly. I will be happy to invite you to another meeting at a later date if the two of you would be so kind as to indulge me. I assure you that communications for a new convention will be delivered as quickly as possible.”

More pleasantries were exchanged, but Phoenix had long ceased paying attention. His Mistress’s political affairs were complex burdens, and he was far happier under his Mistress’s care, knowing that her affection came with no catch; his mistakes were always forgiven with time and well-deserved discipline. Lost in thought, Phoenix failed to notice the departure of his Mistress’s guests.

The feeling of fingers carding through his hair jolted him back to reality. His Mistress’s fingernails lightly scratched at his scalp, drawing an involuntary noise from deep in his throat. He tilted his head so that her fingers grazed his cheek, letting out a happy sigh when she cupped her soft palm against his cheek. Phoenix rocked back to sit back on his legs, letting his head fall into the palm of his Mistress’s hand.

Phoenix’s head dropped as his Mistress pulled his hands away, his eyes snapping open as her warmth disappeared from his cheek. His nose scrunched as she crouched in front of him, the fabric of her dress slipping across the floor as she lowered herself. She folded her forearms atop her knees, cocking her head at the man sitting before her.

“Mistress Caela,” Phoenix murmured, eyes shaded by his thick lashes. He kept his gaze low, determined to be the perfect image of an obedient consort. “I… I can explain myself. I just needed to see you, but I confused myself. The guard thought-”

“Stop.”

Before he could protest, Phoenix found himself in his Mistress’s embrace, face pressed into her shoulder. Strands of her hair tickled his nose as she pulled away, smelling faintly of floral perfume. No longer preoccupied with explaining his misbehavior, Phoenix was finally able to take a good look at his Mistress.

The austere facade Caela had put on for her guests had melted, leaving behind the face of a tired woman, drained from what seemed, to her, like an eternity of entertaining the intrusive eyes of the neighboring nobility. Unsure of what to do, Phoenix stayed silent, searching his Mistress’s face as if it could offer him the solution to her dilemmas. As he watched, she drew her hand across her face, as if the motion would smooth out her anxieties with it. She sighed, before smiling down at the man in front of her.

“Phoenix, as irritated as my guests will be, I’m rather glad you interrupted,” Caela admitted, dropping from the balls of her feet to sit cross-legged before Phoenix. She gently tugged at his legs, and he obediently moved them out from under his body. She moved his legs to examine the soles of his feet, frowning as she began to pick out the small ceramic shards. After a moment of silence, Phoenix spoke.

“Mistress, I caused a lot of trouble,” Phoenix murmured, voice strained. Struggling not to kick out with his feet, he concentrated on telling his tale. “I… I knocked over your plants, Mistress, and I broke a vase. I… I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting. Were the visitors unpleasant today?”

“Hm? Oh, no.” She dabbed at the blood with the fabric of her dress; Phoenix winced. Caela rolled her eyes, looking as if she were resisting the urge to stick her tongue out. “Their etiquette is faultless. I would not be able to find a flaw if I tried. Regardless, you know their type. Our northern neighbors are truly incorrigible. They are always putting their fingers in other people’s business. They would burn every acre of land I oversee and smile at me all the while.”

“That’s no good,” offered Phoenix. He could vaguely remember hearing about their northern compatriots, but never in a positive light. His Mistress’s staff often spoke scornfully of Jaein’s snake-tongued inhabitants, especially as their diplomatic endeavors had recently increased in both frequency and intensity. No wonder his Mistress hadn’t had time to call for him, what with the continuous pressure from the Jaein officials. 

“Ah, that’s the last piece. You really have to be more careful,” she admonished, patting away the last of the grime. Phoenix’s feet were still tender, but the pain had been reduced to a dull throb. His Mistress was already standing, and Phoenix eagerly accepted her proffered hand, moving to his feet with ginger motions. She tutted. “Come, now. Let’s get to my room—as lovely as it was to see you, you  _ did _ cause quite some trouble, no?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” Phoenix felt a bit awkward walking leaning on his Mistress as they slowly made their way down the hall. He limped alongside her in comfortable silence, reveling in the warmth of her presence. 

Before long, they had reached Caela’s bedroom. It was with no small amount of relief that Phoenix allowed himself to drop onto the ottoman sitting against the side of the bed. His Mistress settled herself on the bed, patting her lap as an invitation to Phoenix’s head.

Happy to oblige, Phoenix moved from his perch to the bed, arranging himself so that he could curl against her, face pressed into her stomach. He allowed a soft, happy sigh to escape as she ran her hands through his hair, keening as her fingers brushed against the skin of his neck. Unable to help himself, Phoenix wrapped his arms around her waist, pushing his face even deeper into the softness of her stomach.

Caela sighed, slipping her fingers under the cool metal of Phoenix’s collar. She didn’t want to ruin the moment by reminding him of his due punishment, especially as he looked so comfortable in her lap, but her rules were to be followed. With as much gentleness as such a movement could warrant, Caela curled her fingers under the collar and tugged Phoenix away from her waist. 

With an unhappy cry, Phoenix allowed himself to be pulled away, frowning as he was gently pushed off his Mistress’s lap. He was rather conflicted; he wanted to be disciplined for his transgressions and fully return to his Mistress’s good graces, but it was so comfortable to be pet  _ without _ having to be punished. 

He pouted, batting his eyelashes. While discipline was comforting in its own way, Phoenix would much rather spend the rest of the day lounging in his Mistress’s lap, especially after having gone so long without her touch. Abandoning the eye contact, Phoenix flopped over and pushed his face into Caela’s lap, muttering his complaints into her thighs.

“You’re going to have to speak up, sweetheart.” Caela allowed herself to bury her fingers in Phoenix’s hair, playing along with his attempt to delay his impending punishment. She wrapped a lock of his hair around her finger and tugged, suppressing a smile as he whined and shoved his face deeper into her lap. 

“I just want to stay like this,” Phoenix admitted, his soft voice muffled by Caela’s thighs. He squirmed as she trailed her fingers down his back, shivering at the soft touch of her fingers. He murmured his contentment as her hand came to rest on his rear. “I  _ know _ I misbehaved, but can’t you punish me later? Tomorrow? I’ll behave, Mistress. I  _ will _ .” 

Phoenix continued to mutter into her lap, most of his words lost to the fabric of her skirt, halfheartedly making a case for the postponement of his due punishment. His mind was elsewhere, his mouth running without much thought; Phoenix allowed himself to sink into the soft bliss of his Mistress’s warm lap, a steady stream of half-hopeful words still trickling through his lips. “I promise I’ll take the punishment well, Mistress; if you’d only just wait until tomorrow, I just-”

A stinging slap.

Phoenix startled, yelping at the sudden pain. He twisted his torso to pout at his Mistress, offering her a betrayed look. Before he could speak out in protest, she landed another slap on his ass, drawing a long whine from his throat.

“Ah—! Mistress,” Phoenix complained, wiggling experimentally. He allows his head to fall against the side of her thigh, muttering his complaints into the soft fabric of her skirt. For a moment, he is tempted to suck on the fabric, but he quickly dismisses the idea as he hears his Mistress speak. If his ears could perk up, they would.

“I suppose I  _ could _ postpone the punishment,” Caela drawled, tracing circles on Phoenix’s exposed back. He shivered, arching his back in a wordless plea for more. His Mistress’s lenience was unexpected, but not unwelcome, and he hummed his appreciation, allowing himself to bask in her attention. Caela’s fingers slowed to a stop, drumming a slow rhythm on the skin of Phoenix’s back. “Well. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then, no?”

With that, she slid Phoenix off her lap and stood, starting towards the door. Phoenix shot up from the bed, aghast, nearly falling flat against the floor in his haste. He lunged forward to tug at his Mistress’s skirts, disregarding the dull throb of his knees as they collided against the hardwood floor. Alarm shot through his veins, electrifying his fingertips and filling his mind with a staticky buzz.

“No—please! I didn’t mean it, I swear, Mistress—don’t lock me up… It’s dark, I can’t—please!” Phoenix cried, blood running cold. He threw himself forward, pressing himself as close to his Mistress as he could manage, burying his face in her skirts. His chest tightened and suddenly breathing seemed impossible. 

What if he begged louder, harder? He didn’t want to be locked up alone again, because what if she didn’t ever let him out again? He deserved to be punished—he had misbehaved, so what was he thinking asking to put off punishment? What was he thinking trying to test her patience? His voice grew louder as he grew smaller, feeling as if he were about to vanish into the thin air, with nothing tethering him to reality but for the fabric he clutched in his fists.

“Phoenix! Phoenix, sweetheart, hey.”

Soft hands on his wet cheeks.

Oh. 

Phoenix took a long, shuddering breath. When had he started to cry? He tentatively brought his hands to his face, clutching his Mistress’s hands in his own. She was facing him, now. (When had that happened?) Too shaken to think to hesitate, Phoenix launched himself against his Mistress, burying his face in her chest as another soft cry escaped him. 

Her arms encircled him, gently rubbing at his back as he shuddered with heavy sobs. Caela gently patted his back, lips pursed as he continued to cry. Phoenix didn’t seem to realize that he had called her “Madame” in his panic—that was a title that Caela never used, a title that Phoenix avoided like the plague. Was she so easily conflated with Phoenix’s previous partner? 

“Phoenix,” she murmured, tapping her fingers against his back. She repeated his name when he did not respond. A third, louder call finally roused him from his stupor. He tilted his head to the side, allowing one eye to peek up at Caela.

“Yes… Mistress?” Phoenix spoke hesitantly, as if convinced the words would shatter against his lips. He snuggled deeper into her embrace, hoping that he could absorb all her love before being locked away for misbehaving. The thought sent another sob shuddering through his system and he tightened his hold on his Mistress. 

Caela cleared her throat, thinking carefully before she spoke. “I… You know I wouldn’t lock you back up, right? I was only teasing, sweetheart. Have I ever done such a thing to you?”

“… No,” Phoenix conceded, feeling a bit silly. The adrenaline was bleeding out of his body like water from a tub, leaving his limbs heavy. He turned his head to press his face back into his Mistress’s chest, muttering his apologies into the soft fabric. “I was scared, Mistress. I overstepped my boundaries, and I… I tried to get away with it, and you threatened to leave, and I didn’t want you to go away, and then I—”

Phoenix choked on the lump rising in his throat, ducking his head as his words failed to leave his throat. The panic had begun to subside, clearing his head enough for him to reassess his situation. What had he been thinking? Had he been thinking at all? What a shameful display of ineptitude that had been; without needing a mirror, Phoenix was already certain that his cheeks were flushed red. He whispered, “I’m sorry for overreacting. I know you mean well.”

“What?” Caela’s tone was sharp. Phoenix cringed at the sound, and Caela sighed. Poor thing. She started patting his back at a slow tempo, hoping to soothe his anxieties. She softened her voice, dipping her head to rest her chin on Phoenix’s head. “You don’t need to apologize, Phoenix. That devil woman did a number on you, didn’t she?”

“Devil woman?” Phoenix asked, confused. He pushed his head upwards, snuggling against his Mistress’s chin. 

“The, ah… Madame.”

Phoenix stiffened, nearly popping Caela in the chin with his skull. He twisted his head to eye his Mistress, still not quite understanding. He let out a little grunt of confusion, the mention of his previous Madame crawling over his skin like a horde of wet-footed centipedes. 

“You called me ‘Madame’ earlier,” Caela clarified, the steady rhythm of her hand against Phoenix’s back accompanying each word. She paused for a moment, thinking. “I do hope I’m not as cruel to you as I know she was.”

“Oh.” 

Phoenix felt his face bloom with color—shame? Embarrassment? He had called his Mistress by the wrong title, for goodness’ sake. His Mistress had given him unconditional affection, fed and clothed him, and what he gave her in return was calling her by the title of another woman? He wanted nothing more but to melt right into the floor.

“Is that all you have to say?” Caela teased, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Calling me by another woman’s name and that’s all you have to say? My, my.”

Phoenix whined, wiggling his torso as if it would bring him closer to his Mistress. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I was scared. I didn’t mean to, I promise.”

Caela huffed, momentarily pulling away to cup Phoenix’s face in her hands. His wide brown eyes flickered to her own, startled, before his gaze darted away. Red-faced, Phoenix pressed his cheek against her palms, hoping to prolong the contact. Caela uses her palms to tilt his head, encouraging him to look at her. 

“Come on now, darling. I was only teasing,” Caela said softly, darting forward to press a kiss into Phoenix’s forehead. Her face took on a serious look as she peered down at Phoenix. “You know I couldn’t be mad at you, you were panicking. I can’t hold that against you at all.”

Phoenix blinked at her, eyelids fluttering like broken camera shutters. He let out an involuntary whimper as she used her thumb to stroke his cheek. 

“Hey, how about we postpone your punishment for real, hm?” Caela offered, still moving her thumb against his cheek. She smiled as he cracked his eyes open, clearly hesitant to accept. He allowed the full weight of his head to rest in her palms as he considered her words.

“I’m… I’m strong enough to take it now,” Phoenix insisted, shifting in place as he spoke. He moved his hands up to his face, sandwiching his Mistress’s small hands between his face and his palms. He nuzzled into the warmth and sighed, content. “I want to make up for how bad I’ve been, Mistress. I want to atone.”

“I think that scare I gave you is punishment enough for now,” Caela admonished, tugging her hands away before heaving herself to her feet. She smoothed the crumpled folds of her skirts before extending a hand to Phoenix, who eagerly accepted. Caela tugged him toward the bed. “Come, let’s take a nap. I think we’ve both suffered enough for today.”

Phoenix tangled his fingers with hers, happy to follow her into her bed. Caela settled onto the bed, swinging her legs onto the mattress and scooting over. She patted the spot next to her, and Phoenix gratefully accepted, quickly making his way onto the soft sheets and snuggling up to his Mistress with a soft hum. With one sweeping gesture, Caela pulled the thick comforter over the both of them, effectively corralling Phoenix against her.

“…You’ll stay with me, right?” Phoenix’s voice was soft—barely more than a whisper. He ducked his head, embarrassed, allowing himself to squeeze his eyelids shut as his Mistress paused to answer. He softened as her hands found their way into his hair, raking through his soft locks in slow, repetitive motions.

“Of course.” 

**Author's Note:**

> haha anyway, yoink. there might be a part two with NSFW content, but there also might not. I suppose it depends on how motivated I feel. paypal me three dollars to buy an energy drink, and i'll write y'all a part two.
> 
> edit: there WILL be NSFW, in my Kinktober, which is to be posted at some point.   
> join my discord? https://discord.gg/MyNtkAe


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